


Little Big Brother

by ami_ven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, De-Aged Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: A witches’ spell gone awry turns Dean into a five-year-old, and Sam learns a few things about his own childhood.





	Little Big Brother

Some days, Sam thought that witches were the worst thing they ever had to hunt.

Demons and monsters were out for death and destruction, sure, but they were also _predictable_. They were obvious about their teeth or claws or spectral energy, and most of them went for the kill without much subterfuge. When monsters were young and stupid, they were just easier to catch. When _witches_ were young and stupid, their badly-worked spells could lead to a literally infinite number of terrible outcomes.

Such as Sam’s older brother now being about five years old.

He’d tried to shout a warning, but Dean hadn’t ducked quite fast enough to avoid a splash of whatever potion the witches had been cooking up. There had been a moment of stunned silence, then an eye-hurting flash of light, and Dean had suddenly been three feet shorter.

And clearly, these girls had no idea what they were doing, because as soon as the light faded, the entire abandoned warehouse began to shake.

“You idiot!” snapped the oldest witch, turning to glare at the one who’d spilled the potion. “You’ve ruined everything!”

Normally, Sam would have tried to get a bit more information about what, exactly, they were doing, or gank one of the witches in the hope of stopping it even if he didn’t know, but his brother was currently a gradeschooler, so Sam just grabbed Dean and ran.

He rounded the hood of the Impala, parked on the street about a block down, just as the warehouse imploded in a particularly impressive fireball. He sank to the ground, breathing hard, and it took a moment before he registered the small fist hitting his shoulder.

“Lemme go!” Dean yelled. “Lemme go, you creep! Where’s my dad!?”

“Dean, he isn’t—” Sam began, releasing his hold a little but not letting go. “Dad is…”

“Where’s my dad, and where’s Sammy?” Dean demanded.

“He’s— _I’m_ Sammy.”

“Liar,” snapped Dean. “Sammy’s my baby brother and I’m supposed to take care of him.”

“I promise, I’m him,” said Sam. “Look, when’s your brother’s birthday?”

“May second, nineteen-eighty-three,” said Dean, at once.

Sam shifted to reach for his wallet, pulling out his driver’s license and handing it to Dean – between Jody’s connections in the Sheriff’s office and Charlie’s not-so-legal hacking, they’d gotten all of the charges and warrants against them dropped, so it had all of Sam’s real information on it.

“See what it says?” he asked.

Dean held the plastic card in both hands, staring at it for a long moment, then looked up. “Sammy?” he asked, softly.

His brother smiled. “Yeah.”

“How’d you get so big!?”

“I didn’t get big, Dean, you got small. How do you feel?”

Dean _looked_ fine. His clothes had shrunk along with him and he was cleaner than when he’d started this morning, missing the two days-worth of grime that Sam still sported.

“Hungry,” Dean decided, after a moment, sounding so much like himself that Sam had to laugh.

“Okay,” he said, hauling himself to his feet and hoisting Dean up with one arm. “We’ll stop for burgers on the way back to the motel.”

“Cool,” said Dean. “Should we bring some back for Dad?”

Sam froze, hand on the passenger side door handle. “Dean,” he began, then sighed. “Dad’s not with us on this one.”

The boy’s eyes widened for a moment, then he smiled. “It’s ‘cause we’re grown-ups, right? We can hunt all by ourselves.”

“How old are you, Dean?” Sam asked, buckling his brother into the front seat.

“Gonna be six in three months,” Dean said proudly.

Sam got into the car slowly and started the ignition – if Dean was five, then their mom had been dead for less than a year, and Dean already knew about hunting.

“You must have been really good for Dad to let you take the car,” said Dean, as they pulled out onto the highway.

“Actually,” said Sam. “Dad gave the Impala to you.”

“She’s _mine_,” Dean asked, awed, then leaned forward to strike the dashboard. “Hear that, Baby? You’re mine. And that means I should get to drive,” he added, glancing at Sam.

“Yeah, _no_,” said Sam, and Dean pouted until they reached the drive-through at Biggerson’s.

Sam juggled the drinks tray as he opened the motel room door, but managed to set everything on the wobbly desk without dropping anything.

“Can you sit here and eat by yourself for a minute?” he asked Dean. “I really need a shower. And a cup of coffee.”

“Don’t need a babysitter, Sammy,” muttered Dean, around a mouthful of hamburger.

Yep, this was definitely Dean.

“I’ll be right back out,” Sam promised, and ducked into the bathroom. He scrubbed as quickly as he could and was finished in only a few minutes, still drying his hair as he walked back into the main room.

For a moment, he thought it was empty – until he heard running water and turned to find Dean standing on the rickety desk chair in the tiny kitchenette area, filling the glass coffee pot in the sink.

“Hey!” he cried, grabbing the pot away from Dean with a slosh of water.

Dean jumped and would have toppled off the chair if Sam hadn’t caught him.

“What’d you do that for?” Dean demanded, sounding offended. “I make it for Dad all the time!”

“Of course you do,” Sam muttered – he hadn’t known their father’s drinking had been that bad, that early. “Go finish your food, Dean. I’ll make the coffee.”

His brother scowled, holding out both hands expectantly. “I can do it. I’m supposed to take care of you, Sammy.”

“You’re _five years old_,” Sam reminded him.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the big brother, even if you’re all giant now. You’re still Sammy and you’re still my responsibility.”

“Dean—”

“I _promised_, Sammy, and Winchesters do not break promises. If you asked grown-up me right now, I bet he’d say the same thing.’

He probably would, Sam thought darkly, then paused. _Hey, Cas_, he prayed silently, _I know you’re probably busy up there, but Dean is—_

The sudden rustle of wings was loud in the quiet motel room.

“Sam, what is—” Castiel spotted kid-Dean and stared at him for a long moment, then said, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean stared back. “How do you know my name?”

Sam braced himself for the line about _raising him from perdition_, but Cas only said, “We are very well acquainted, Dean. My name is Castiel, and I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“Really?” Dean asked, and when Cas nodded, his whole face lit up. “That is so cool! Mom always said angels were watching over me. Is that your job, Cas? Are you my guardian angel?”

“No angel has ever been assigned the sole task of guarding an individual human,” said Cas. “But I do regard your well-being as a self- appointed responsibility.”

“So you _are_ my guardian angel?”

“Perhaps. I am also your friend.”

“Of course you are,” said Dean, with the kind of conviction only a child could have. “I bet you’re my _best_ friend.”

“I believe that would be accurate,” Cas allowed.

“Wait,” said Sam, feeling about three steps behind. “How did you know this is Dean?”

Cas regarded him with a puzzled expression. “I would recognize Dean’s soul anywhere, Sam,” he said, “no matter what form his body took.”

“You can see my _soul_!?” asked Dean, staring down at his own chest as though he’d be able to see it, too. “Gross.”

“On the contrary,” said Cas. “Your soul is one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my millennia of existence.”

“Oh,” said Dean, shyly. “Can I see yours, then?”

“I do not have a soul. Angels have grace, which is similar – mine is now contained in this vessel.”

Cas spread his hands, gesturing at himself, and Dean took a step closer, one small hand rising to poke at a button on Cas’s trench coat. 

“A vessel is a thing that holds stuff, right?” Dean asked. “You mean that’s not you, Cas? Is your grace the real you? How’d you get in there, then? Can you get out again? Is that why you don’t have any wings? Are you—?”

“Dean,” said Sam, interrupting, but Cas dropped to one knee to be at Dean’s eye level.

“You are correct, Dean,” he said. “This body is merely a container for my grace, which is the essence of my being. It belonged to a devout man named Jimmy Novak, who gave me permission to enter. His soul remained with me for a time, but he is now in heaven. I could choose another vessel, if required, but Jimmy’s bloodline is best suited to my grace, and I swore to him that I would never ask his daughter to be my vessel. And my wings exist on a plane of reality not visible to the human eye.”

“You have invisible extra-dimensional wings?” Sam asked, surprised, then shook his head to clear it. “Wait, no, never mind. Cas, Dean is five years old!”

“I am aware of that,” said Cas, evenly. “But my examination of this problem still left plenty of my attention to answer Dean’s questions.”

“Okay, sorry,” said Sam. “Can you fix him?”

Cas stood up, frowning. “No,” he said, after a moment, then added, “Not at the present time. If the witches who cast this spell had done it properly, I would be able to use my grace to reverse it. But this spell is… twisted, somehow. If I tried to reverse it without understanding more about it, I could seriously injure Dean in the process.”

“Can you track the witches, then?” asked Sam.

“No more than I could locate any other human I had never encountered,” the angel replied. “Perhaps I could examine the ingredients used for their spell?”

“If there’s anything left,” said Sam. “They pretty much brought the building down.”

“There may still be clues,” said Cas. “I should—”

“You’re leaving?” Dean asked, suddenly, sounding worried.

“It’s getting late anyway,” said Sam. “We can go in the morning, Cas.”

“Very well,” Cas agreed. “That will give me time to wrap up a few things in heaven.”

“Then you _are_ leaving!” said Dean.

Cas knelt again, and rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will return to you as soon as I can, Dean, just as I always do. And should you need me before then, just pray to me and I will hear you.”

“Just pray?” Dean repeated.

“You call it ‘angel radio’,” said Cas. “I always hear your prayers, Dean.”

The boy ducked his head. “Okay.”

With a rustle of wings, Cas vanished and Dean stared at the spot where he’d been before he clapped his hands, suddenly businesslike.

“Okay, Sammy, it’s time for bed.”

“Dude, it’s _nine o’clock_,” said Sam. “I’m going to make some coffee and start researching age spells. _You_ can go to bed.”

“Not tired,” said Dean, trying and failing to hide his yawn.

Sam snorted and rummaged around in his brother’s duffel bag until he found his toothbrush and a t-shirt that always looked too small. “Bed time.”

“You can’t stay up later than me,” Dean protested. “Who’s gonna tuck you in?”

Sam started to laugh, until he realized his brother was serious. He felt a familiar surge of anger toward their father – Sam had known that Dean had always been more protective of him than the older siblings of any of the kids he’d gone to school with, but he’d thought it had more to do with losing Mom than anything. And he guessed he’d always thought that Dad had taken care of him as a baby, that he’d taken care of Dean, that they’d had some kind of normal childhood before Dad had gotten lost in his obsession and Sam had been old enough to realize how not-normal their life was.

But this Dean – five-year-old Dean, who should have been in kindergarten, where his biggest worry should have been remembering his letters and learning to spell – he’d been worrying about his baby brother in a world he knew for a fact was full of monsters.

“Hey,” said Sam, softly. “Why don’t I tuck you in, for a change?”

“You’ll still be here, once I’m asleep?” Dean asked, suspiciously.

Sam pointed back at the desk. “Right there, buddy. Now, go brush your teeth.”

Dean had very clear ideas about how he wanted the blankets arranged, but thankfully didn’t ask for a story or a song before he went to sleep. Sam turned off the main lights, working just by the light of his laptop screen.

There were plenty of ‘youth spells’ on the internet, but most of them were just recipes for face creams and antioxidant teas. After two hours, he gave up and crawled into the other bed, listening to the rumble of passing trucks on the highway outside the motel.

Sam was almost asleep when he heard the rustle of wings that signaled Cas’s arrival. He kept his eyes closes as there was a second rustle, the movement of cheap motel sheets, and Dean said, quiet but eager, “Cas, you came!”

“I always hear your prayers, Dean,” the angel replied. “And if it is at all within my power, I always answer them.”

“Really?” Dean asked, softly.

“Of course. Now, was there a purpose for calling me?”

“I…” the boy began, then said in a rush, “I had a bad dream and I don’t want to be alone and I can’t wake Sammy.”

For a moment, Sam was sure that Cas knew he wasn’t asleep and was going to rat him out, but then the angel said, “Your brother relies on you a great deal, Dean. I can understand your reasoning.”

“Oh,” said Dean. “I thought you were going to tell me it was just a stupid dream, and to go back to sleep.”

“Of course not. If you were still your adult self, you would know that angels have the ability to walk through human dreams. I have seen your nightmares, Dean, and I do not blame you for your uneasy sleep.”

“Do you have nightmares, too, Cas?”

“Angels do not sleep, unless we have greatly depleted our power,” said Cas. “But the few times I have slept have not been pleasant.”

“That sucks,” said Dean.

“It does,” Cas agreed. Then, he said, “Despite your dreams, you _do_ need sleep, Dean. I could use a little of my grace to put you into a very deep sleep, so you wouldn’t have any dreams.”

“No!” said Dean, at once. “What if something happens? What if Sammy needs me?”

“Very well,” said Cas. “Then I will stand watch as you sleep, and chase away your bad dreams.”

“But how? You don’t even have any weapons!”

“I always have my angel blade, Dean.”

There was the soft _shink_ of metal, and Sam risked opening one eye to see Cas sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed, holding out his angel blade.

Sam blinked, surprised. Not because it was a weapon – angel blades weren’t actually sharp to the touch if you were an ordinary human and even so, five-year-old Dean took it carefully, like he already knew how to handle dangerous things – but because it was something he’d seen before. Cas’s angel blade was one of the few things in heaven or on earth that could actually kill him, and Cas had never shown the slightest hesitation to put it in Dean’s hand.

“It’s beautiful,” the boy said, sliding small fingers gently around the hilt. “And warm.”

“It is an extension of my grace,” Cas explained. “It resonates in harmony with your soul.”

Dean’s grin was bright, even in the dim moonlight. “Your grace likes my soul, Cas?”

“Very much so,” the angel said. “Now, you need to sleep.”

“Yeah, okay…”

Sam closed his eyes again as Dean wriggled back under the covers. 

“Hey, Cas—”

“_Sleep_, Dean. I will still be here when you wake.”

“Okay,” Dean yawned. “G’night, Cas.”

“Sweet dreams,” he replied, and it was a promise.

Sam fell asleep, listening to his (little) older brother’s peaceful breathing.

*

Sam was woken by a small kneecap colliding painfully with his kidney, and he blinked awake to find five-year-old Dean sitting on his stomach. Cas stood at the foot of the bed, looking more amused than an angel of the lord probably should.

“At his current size, I knew he could do you no serious injury, Sam,” said Cas, deadpan. “Dean insisted it was a human tradition.”

“Of course he did,” Sam muttered, then paused, noticing his brother’s new outfit. “Where’d you find kid-sized clothes?”

“I may not be able to return Dean to his proper size,” said Cas, “but simple fabric was not difficult.”

“Right,” said Sam. “I need coffee.”

*

There wasn’t much left of the warehouse when they arrived. Dean balked at the idea of being left in the car, arguing that if it was really so dangerous, _he_ should go and _Sam_ should stay in the car.

“Because I’m a grown-up, that’s why,” said Sam, when Dean pouted, “and because you’re _five_.”

His brother scowled at him. “I’m supposed to take care of you, Sammy, _no matter what_. So, it doesn’t matter if I’m little and you’re giant, I have to keep you safe.”

“Dean…” began Sam, something settling uncomfortably in his gut.

“It would be more beneficial to Sam if you were to remain here, Dean,” said Cas. “I require his knowledge of the spell to look for traces of its magic. But if something were to go wrong, the bond that you and I share would allow me to instantly bring Sam here to safety.”

“Because it would bring you to wherever I am,” said Dean, slowly. “So if I’m safe, you can bring Sammy someplace safe.”

Cas nodded. “Correct.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “But you be careful.”

“We will,” the angel said, solemnly. “We should go, Sam.”

“Right,” he said, and got out of the car.

Dean scrambled over the front seat before he’d fully closed the driver’s door, hands tight on the steering wheel as he watched them leave.

“Quick thinking there, Cas,” said Sam. “Was any of true?”

The angel paused, considering. “It was not a lie,” he said. “Our bond _is_ profound. And in this form, he does not have the angel-warding on his ribs. But I would be able to transport you to safety without needing Dean as an anchor.”

Sam smiled. “Good to know. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

He was able to find the remains of the witches’ altar, half-buried under cinderblocks, but Cas’s angel strength let him shift the debris easily. He crouched, fingertips hovering just over a series of stains and scrapes in its wooden surface.

Finally, he straightened. “I see.”

“You see what, Cas?” asked Sam.

“This spell was very rudimentary. But perhaps that can work to our advantage.”

“How?”

“These witches are humans of limited means,” Cas explained. “Living in rural Oklahoma. They didn’t have access to anything really powerful to complete their spell.”

“Then you can reverse it?” Sam asked.

“Not alone,” the angel admitted. “But we don’t need to reverse the exact spell they used on Dean, merely overwhelm it with a powerful spell to erase any magic on him.”

Sam frowned. “But… your bond?”

“That is not magic,” said Cas. “It is—”

He broke off, abruptly, listening to something Sam couldn’t hear. Then, Cas blinked and said, “My apologies.”

“What—?” Sam began, but before he could finish, Cas had grabbed his elbow and the hunter found himself suddenly standing beside the Impala, stomach lurching.

Dean fumbled the driver’s door open. “You’re okay!”

“As are you,” said Cas, not even swaying as Dean barreled into him. “Why did you call?”

The boy ducked his head. “You were gone a really long time,” he mumbled into Cas’s coat. “I got worried.”

“We’re okay,” said Sam, and it was nearly true – the nausea from flying ‘angel air’ was almost gone. “And we got what we came for.”

“You can fix me?” asked Dean, letting him go. “Right now?”

“You don’t need to be fixed, Dean,” said Cas, voice firm but gentle, “just returned to your proper age. And, no, we cannot do it now.”

“Why not?” asked Dean, reluctantly getting into the back seat when Sam held open the door.

“It requires that we perform a spell of our own,” the angel explained. “We have many of the necessary ingredients already in the bunker.”

“The what?” said Dean. “That’s a weird name for a motel.”

“No,” said Sam, pulling out onto the highway. “The bunker is where we live. It’s home.”

“We live in a bunker?” asked Dean. “That’s so cool! Is Dad there now?”

“Dean,” his brother began, then sighed. He glanced in the rearview mirror at the backseat – Cas was sitting next to Dean, dutifully buckled in by five-year-old hands, and Sam raised a questioning eyebrow.

Cas nodded. “Dean,” he said, softly. “Your father is no longer living.”

“What!?”

“Dean,” said Sam, again. “It was – it was almost ten years ago. You get that this is the future, right? You grew up, we both did. Things changed.”

“But Dad can’t die!” Dean protested. “He’s the best hunter in the world! Nothing could kill him.”

“Nor did it, Dean,” said Cas. “He gave his life to save another.”

“Oh,” said Dean, then added in a smaller voice, “Was it me? Don’t lie, Sammy – was it?”

“Yes,” said Sam. “But—”

He was distracted by movement in the backseat – Cas had unfastened his seatbelt to slide across the bench seat and pull Dean into his arms.

“You are worth dying for, Dean Winchester,” the angel said, voice low enough that Sam was sure he wasn’t supposed to have heard. “I chose to stand at your side when all of heaven was against you, and I have never had cause to regret that choice.”

“Never?” Dean repeated.

“Never,” Cas agreed.

Dean let himself be held a moment longer, hands tight in the fabric of Cas’s trench coat, then pulled away. “You oughta buckle in, Cas,” he said. “You could get hurt if Sammy crashes us.”

“Hey,” his brother protested, but he was smiling.

Cas slid back to his own seat and fastened his belt. “I find Sam to be an adequate driver,” he said.

Sam’s smile faded a little as he watched his brother grinning at Cas – even as a gradeschooler, Dean thought of other people instead of himself.

*

Five-year-old Dean’s reaction to the Men of Letters bunker was almost exactly the same as grown-up Dean’s, only higher-pitched and with actual bouncing in excitement.

For a split-second, Sam worried about the number of weapons and other dangerous objects they usually left lying around, until he realized that the guy Dean was tugging along by the hand was also the angel who had rescued him from hell, and he figured Cas wouldn’t let anything serious happen to him.

Sam half-listened to them, going to toss his duffle into his room before he headed to the library. He and Cas had spent most of the three-hour drive discussing that kind of spell they would need. Dean had fallen asleep as soon as they’d hit the highway, curled up with his head in Cas’s lap, and Sam was more than willing to let the angel deal with his hyperactive brother while he collected the books they might need.

He had leafed through the first two, making notes on his laptop, when he noticed how quiet it suddenly was. Sam vaguely remembered hearing that when little kids were quiet, that was when you had to worry. He closed the lid of his laptop, half out of his chair to go look for Dean, when he saw the bright green eyes peering at him over the edge of the table.

“Aah!” he yelled, managing to both hit his flailing knee on the underside of the table and crack his elbow on the back of the chair. “Dean!”

His brother grinned. “You scream like a girl,” he said, gleefully.

“So you’ve told me,” said Sam. “Where’s Cas?”

“Getting dinner. I’m hungry, and there’s only beer in the fridge. Aren’t you hungry, Sammy?”

“I’m—” he began, just as his stomach rumbled loudly. “I guess I am.”

“You’re lucky I’m here to take care of you,” said Dean, still grinning. “Cause otherwise you’d pro’lly _starve_.”

“Would not,” said Sam. “And _Cas_ went for dinner.”

“Only ‘cause I can’t drive!” Dean protested.

At that moment, Cas appeared in the library, carrying a large paper bag. “Hello, Dean,” he said, “Sam.”

“What’d you bring us, Cas?” asked Dean, trying to peer into the bag as Cas set it down. “Is there pie?”

“Of course,” said Cas, as though no meal could possibly be complete without pie. “I went to a diner in Ohio where you had both expressed particular enjoyment of the food. I wasn’t sure what to get, but I explained to the woman at the counter that I was retrieving dinner for friends who were experiencing a difficulty, one of whom was a child, and she recommended this.”

As Sam unpacked the bag, he found several large Styrofoam and foil containers, and all of them smelled delicious. There was a whole meatloaf and a dozen fluffy rolls, glazed carrots and mashed potatoes, and a clearly house-made apple pie.

“This is great, Cas,” said Sam. “Thanks.”

“For beings whose bodies remind you of their basic needs, you ignore them with alarming frequency,” the angel told him. “But at Dean’s current age, that is unacceptable.”

“Right,” said Sam. He was getting the idea that he was a pretty terrible temporary big brother. “I’ll get the plates.”

“And don’t forget one for Cas,” said Dean. “He says angels don’t eat, but I bet they can still taste.”

Sam smiled. “Then you’d better come and help me.”

“Okay!”

Dean carefully carried the stack of plates and silverware back from the kitchen to the cleanest end of the library table. He set out a plate at each chair, knives and spoons on the right, forks on the left, and nudged each one carefully into place.

Sam, passing around drinks – water for Dean, beer for him and Cas – paused. “You know how to set the table?”

“That’s my job at home,” said Dean, proudly, then his expression fell. “Well, it _was_. Before Mom…”

“Yeah,” said Sam, dully, but Cas rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m sure your mother would be proud that you have retained your skill,” he said.

Dean smiled. “Thanks, Cas. Now, c’mon, time to eat!”

At Dean’s insistence, Cas put a representative sample of each food on his plate, trying to describe how they tasted to his angelic senses. It was a good distraction from Dean’s frequent glances to make sure Sam was eating enough – like he wasn’t already on seconds and seriously contemplating thirds.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not still hungry, Sammy?” asked Dean, as they put away the leftovers.

“I’m fine, Dean,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Really. The Sammy you know might still be a baby, but I’m an adult now, and I can take care of myself. So you don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

“Okay,” said Dean, quietly.

“Okay,” Sam repeated. “Let me show you your room…”

Dean wasn’t quite as impressed with his bedroom as he had been with the rest of the bunker. Sam had another moment of worry about the weapons displayed on Dean’s wall, but his five-year-old brother ignored them. He trailed his fingers over the Men of Letters-issue blanket on his bed and the vinyl records on his desk, but stopped short of touching the faded and creased picture of their mother on the nightstand.

“She’s been dead for a long time, hasn’t she?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “Almost my whole life.”

“Dad never talks about her,” his brother continued. “Sometimes, it’s like she just disappeared, and I’m the only one who remembers her. Like she never lived at all.”

“That’s not true, Dean,” said Sam. “She lived. I don’t remember Mom, really, but I know she loved us.”

“She loves you still,” added Cas. “Each soul makes its own heaven, and your mother chose the memory of a day she spent with both of you.”

“Really?” Dean smiled, a little shyly, and took Cas’s hand, leaning against the angel’s side. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Yeah,” Sam added.

There was silence for a moment, then Dean yawned loudly.

“Okay,” said Sam. “Time for bed.”

“You first,” his brother muttered.

“I have more research to do,” Sam told him. “And I didn’t suddenly end up a couple decades younger in the last few days.”

“Sleep is essential to humans,” added Cas. “Especially young ones. And you will need your strength for the spell to return you to your correct age.”

Dean glared at them both, until he yawned again. “Fine,” he said. “But _Cas_ gets to tuck me in tonight.”

Sam fought hard not to laugh at the looks on their faces – Dean adorably mutinous and Cas awkwardly confused. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.”

Cas joined him a few minutes later, silently opening a book of Ancient Greek history and beginning to take notes, until Sam cleared his throat loudly.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I assume you are familiar with the human concept of being ‘tucked in’.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “I’m just surprised that you are.”

“I was aware of the concept, yes,” said Cas. “And Dean was able to provide specifics.”

“Sure,” said Sam, then smiled. “You know, Cas, you’re really good with him while he’s like this.”

Cas tilted his head, the way he always did when one of the brothers said or did something bafflingly human. “He’s Dean,” the angel said, like that was an answer – and maybe it was.

Really, how Cas dealt with little-Dean wasn’t any different than how he dealt with big-Dean, it was just that as a five-year-old, his brother was much more open in return. This Dean could ask questions just because he was curious and be delighted at the answer, without worrying how it would be useful to them in the next apocalypse. This Dean could reach out for affection, because he hadn’t learned to fear rejection.

Sam was starting to wonder, though, if he should feel offended that, apparently, Cas still had more confidence in Dean than he did in Sam. When Dean had been an adult, it had made perfect sense – most of the time, Sam had more confidence in Dean, too. But now…

This whole situation was making Sam feel very unsettled. He could admit, if only to himself, that he’d always been angry about the way they’d grown up. He’d been resentful of Dad for making them live like that, and a little resentful of Dean for always going along with it. As a kid, all he’d wanted was a _normal_ life, and he’d felt, just a little, that Dean was part of the reason why he couldn’t.

But here was proof, five years old and in the flesh, that he was wrong.

Sam closed the book he’d been reading, leaning back in his chair to stretch his hunched muscles, and realized that Cas was still missing. The angel had gotten up a few minutes ago without a word, so Sam had assumed he’d gone to find another book, or something to add to their still-pathetic pile of possible ingredients.

There were a couple of things he’d found that he needed to ask Cas about, so Sam rose, stretching again, to go warm up his cup of coffee while he waited for Cas to get back. Then, he changed direction, heading for Dean’s room – that’s what people did, right? They checked on kids in the middle of the night?

Sam stopped just short of the doorway when he heard voices inside. 

“…to go back to sleep,” Cas was saying.

“Can’t,” said Dean.

“You were not having unpleasant dreams,” said Cas. “I would have sensed your distress.”

“Just can’t sleep,” Dean mumbled. “’M worried.”

“There is no need to worry, Dean,” said Cas. “The spell appears to be having no adverse physical affects, and we are doing all we can to return you to normal.”

“I’m not worried about _me_,” said Dean, as though being worried about himself was too ridiculous to even think about. “I’m worried about Sammy.”

“Sam is in the library,” said Cas, and Sam could practically hear the confused head-tilt in his voice. “Aside from a general and persistent lack of sleep, he’s in good health.”

“Not _giant_ Sammy,” Dean protested. “_My_ Sammy. If I’m here in the future, does that mean grown-up me is in the past? Or is _nobody_ there? It’s been two days, Cas, and Sammy’s only a baby! What if there’s no one taking care of him?”

“I’m sure that Sam is fine,” said Cas, firmly. “If something had happened to him in the past, the effects would be evident here in the present. Like in _Back to the Future_.”

“Like what?” Dean asked.

“A cultural reference to a film your adult self is partial to.”

“Oh,” said Dean. There was a pause, then he said, “But how do you _know_ Sammy’s okay?”

Cas sighed. “If I ascertain for certain that the infant Sam is well, will you sleep?”

“Yes,” Dean agreed, at once.

“Very well,” said Cas. “What is today’s date, from your perspective?”

Dean told him, and there was a sudden rustle of feathers. Sam held his breath, waiting, until a second rustle announced Cas’s return.

“Is he okay?” Dean asked, anxiously.

“He is well,” said Cas. “As I thought, this version of you is merely an alteration of your adult self, and your past remains unchanged.”

“But Sammy’s okay?” pressed Dean.

“Your younger self is caring for him now,” said Cas. “You prepared him a bottle of infant formula and were singing to him when I left to return here.”

“Good,” said Dean. “And was there enough? For Sam’s bottle?”

“Based on the amount of formula you used, I believe there was a sufficient quantity for several more days, if properly stored.”

“Oh, good,” said Dean, the relief clear in his voice. “Dad forgets, sometimes, especially if he’s real deep in a hunt. I don’t mind so much, being hungry, but Sam needs to eat _regular_.” His voice brightened, “And it musta worked, if he grows up all giant like that.”

“Nutrition is especially important in early childhood,” Cas agreed. “And now you must abide by our bargain, Dean. I have checked on Sam, so you must go to sleep.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Dean, around a yawn.

Sam took a slow, deep breath as he heard the rustle of readjusted blankets. He realized that the knuckles of both hands were white around his coffee mug and he relaxed his grip carefully.

Then, he turned and headed straight back to the library.

Sam managed to set his cup on the table before he crossed to the nearest bookcase and leaned against it, sliding to the floor with his back to the shelves. He had always found the smell of old books comforting, and he could really, really use some comfort about now.

His mind was chasing itself around, furiously asking _Why didn’t you see this?_ and the other part arguing that of course he hadn’t seen it – he’d been a kid, and it had been all he knew.

And maybe Dean’s recent actions had biased him, too, not to always notice the little things. Sam’s big brother had gone to hell for him, literally, so how could that compare to bottle-feeding and diaper-changing?

Except, of course, it did.

As a kid, he’d always seen Dean’s overprotectiveness as annoying, that Dean had never wanted him along when Dad took them on hunts because he thought Sam wouldn’t be able to handle it. But now, Sam could see that Dean had been trying to let him be _normal_, to let him have the option of getting out of hunting someday – an option Dean had never given himself.

Compared to the other kids at every school, Sam’s childhood had been difficult and dangerous. But compared to Dean’s, now it seemed protected and carefree.

“Sam?” asked Cas, followed by footsteps on the library floor. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Sam, voice sounding strained even to his own ears. “I’m just having an existential crisis and questioning my entire childhood.”

The angel frowned. “Should I take that to mean you are _not_ fine?”

“Dean raised me,” said Sam. “He says that, a lot, and I always thought he was just exaggerating, you know? Trying to guilt me into doing stuff, or just giving me crap ‘cause I’m his little brother. I thought it was just that Dad was always hunting and Dean had to keep an eye on me, a little, until I was old enough to take care of myself.”

“Your brother has always cared for you a great deal,” said Cas, crouching carefully beside him. “Why does this distress you now?”

“Because I spent most of my life trying to get away from him,” said Sam. “I always felt embarrassed, because my dad didn’t have a ‘real job’ like everyone else’s dads, and we moved from one crappy motel to another. And Dean never seemed to care.”

“And you blame him for this?” Cas asked.

“No.” Sam frowned. “I mean, I did. I blamed Dean for a lot of things, and that’s why I’m angry now, at _myself_, for not having seen it. But looking back? I was a dick.”

“You were a child,” said Cas.

“So was Dean,” Sam argued. “Except that _he_ wasn’t allowed to be.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I thought it had taken years for Dad to get obsessed and alcoholic,” said Sam, bluntly. “But he checked out pretty much immediately after Mom died. And Dean was five years old.”

“The age he is again, now,” said Cas.

“Yeah.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I just… I could never appreciate it, then. I was glad when Dad would leave, because I always felt like he thought I was a disappointment. But I never even considered how much responsibility that put on Dean. We never had enough – money, food, anything – but he never let me know how bad it was. And I was never grateful! Because it got _bad_ sometimes, Cas, and I can’t even imagine what Dean must have had to do to keep us fed, to keep us together. But all I knew was that what I had wasn’t good enough.”

“That cannot be true, Sam,” said Cas.

“Do you have any idea how smart Dean actually is?”

“Of course,” said Cas, sounding a little offended.

Sam managed a smile. “Yeah, I guess you do. But I never did. Dean dropped out of high school as soon as he could, and he was failing most of his classes, anyway. He was always skipping them, coming to check on me or going to help Dad with a hunt. Dean was the one who made dinner and did laundry – I can’t remember him ever doing homework, but he always nagged me to do mine, and that used to annoy the hell out of me. Why should I have to when he didn’t? But now, I can see that he gave up on his education to make sure I got mine. I was constantly judging him by everyone else’s standards, as a high school dropout with a knife collection and no job, instead of… who he really is.”

“Dean is smarter than most humans,” said Cas, matter-of-factly. “Including you, Sam.”

He actually managed a laugh at that. “I’m really glad he has you, Cas,” he said, seriously.

The angel smiled. “I consider myself to be equally fortunate.” He stood, offering a hand to pull Sam to his feet. “We cannot change the past. And where we can, it is not generally not wise. But we _can_ learn from it. You can be grateful for your brother now.”

“How’d you get to be so wise?” Sam asked, smiling.

Cas tilted his head. “I have existed for millennia, Sam.”

“Right, of course,” he laughed. “Let’s get back to work.”

*

By morning, they had come up with the recipe for a viable counter-spell. (“Did you sleep _at all_?” Dean demanded, when they woke him, but Sam didn’t answer.) They had everything they needed for it already in the bunker, between their usual hunting supplies and the Men of Letters’ remaining stores – simple ingredients to match the witches’ haphazard work. The incantation was the trickiest part, a long string of complicated Enochian that Cas had written across three sheets of notebook paper in his even, precise handwriting.

“And this is gonna turn me big again?” Dean asked, skeptically, eyeing the clay bowl of graveyard dirt, chicken bones and holy oil.

“It will return you to your previous state,” said Cas.

“And it won’t hurt?”

Cas knelt, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I cannot guarantee that,” he said. “But I know that you are one of the bravest, strongest people I have ever known.”

“I am?” said Dean.

“You are,” the angel said, firmly. “You persevere long after others have given up. You do what you believe is right, even at great personal cost. You have never lost faith in me, even when I had lost faith in myself.”

“Is that how come you love grown-up me?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled. “Only a few of the infinite reasons,” he said.

“You’re _awesome_, Cas,” said Dean, and darted in to press a kiss to the angel’s cheek.

“Right,” said Sam, starting to feel awkward. “We should get started.”

“We are ready to begin,” said Cas. “Dean, perhaps you should lie on the floor, to prevent injury.”

“So I don’t crack my head open if I fall,” Dean agreed. He stretched out on the floor between the library table and the bookshelves, wiggled for a moment, then folded his hands over his stomach. “Ready.”

The low angle also conveniently meant Dean couldn’t see as Sam picked up the silver knife to slice his palm and drip blood into the bowl. “Go, Cas.”

Cas began to recite, and Sam felt a tingle of energy, like the air was full of static electricity. After a moment, it began to crackle. Then, there was a loud bang, like a thunderclap and Dean’s small form was engulfed in white light.

When Sam could see again, his fully adult older brother was lying on the library floor, with Cas leaning over him. 

“Dean!” Sam knelt beside them. “It worked! How do you feel?”

“Like I went ten rounds with a golem,” said Dean. “What the hell happened?”

“Witches,” said Sam. “Don’t you remember?”

“I – yeah?” It was more a question than an answer as Dean leaned away from Sam to let Cas haul him to his feet. He swayed a little, and Cas wrapped an arm around his waist. “It’s all sort of fuzzy and… Wait, did those bitch witches turn me into a kid?”

“You said you were five,” offered Sam.

Dean winced. “I was a little snot, wasn’t I?”

“You were remarkably well-behaved for a human child,” Cas assured him. “Except for your refusal to let Sam care for you.”

“Yeah, well, five was a rough year for me,” said Dean. “How’d you fix me, anyway?”

“You didn’t need to be _fixed_, Dean,” said Cas, just as intensely as when he’d said it to five-year-old Dean. “Just returned to your correct form.”

To Sam’s surprise, Dean’s ears flushed pink. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

“You were adorable,” said Sam, gleefully – now that Dean was back to normal, this was cause for some good-natured brotherly teasing. “You asked Cas if he was your guardian angel.”

Dean’s cheeks joined his ears in turning pink. “’Course he is,” he muttered. “Nobody else’d want the job.”

“Nobody else may have it,” said Cas, and Dean grinned, tipping sideways to lean his forehead against the angel’s temple.

“You’re _awesome_, Cas,” he said, then scowled as Sam let out a snort of laughter. “What?”

“I just…” Sam began, then shook his head. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Hey, _you_ weren’t fun-sized,” said Dean.

“Look,” said Sam, “you’re getting a chick flick moment right now, whether you like it or not.”

“What?” said Dean. “Why? No!”

“Listen to him,” said Cas. The arm he still had around Dean’s waist might have seemed casual, but Sam was sure he was using it to keep Dean from turning tail on them. “He will be brief.”

“Right,” said Sam.

“What?” said Dean, again. “No, Cas, he wants to talk about feelings and crap. I shouldn’t have to—”

“You shouldn’t have to do a lot of things, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “But you always have. And I’ve never been grateful.”

“For what?” said Dean. “For making sure you didn’t die when we were kids? Kinda my job.”

“It was _Dad’s_ job,” said Sam, then held up his hands as Dean glared at him. “He was all we had, I get that. But do _you_ get that taking care of a baby was way too much responsibility for a five-year-old who just lost his mom? You deserved better, Dean.”

“Better than what?” his demanded. “We did okay.”

“_I_ did okay,” Sam corrected. “You made sure I did okay, and never yourself, and I’m sorry.”

Dean took a deep breath, squeezing Cas’s hand and taking a step away. “You get exactly one minute of chick flick crap, and then we pretend this conversation never happened, understood?”

Sam nodded.

“Okay, maybe, sometimes, growing up the way we did kinda sucked,” Dean allowed. “But once you know what’s out there, you can’t go back to normal. We both tried, and look how that turned out. We weren’t cut out for a ‘normal’ life, Sammy.”

“But you still tried,” Sam pressed. “All these years, I’ve been mad at you because I always had to stay behind, because I thought you didn’t want me slowing you down. But you were trying to leave me a way to get out.”

“Well, one of us should’ve had the chance!” said Dean, suddenly. “Dad was – God, Sammy, you know what Dad was like. But you always liked learning more than hunting, you could actually talk to real people for more than ten minutes without creeping them out.”

“So could you,” his brother said, softly. “You could’ve made it work.”

Dean shook his head. “I saw Mom burn, Sammy. Nothing was really the same after that.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, thinking of Jess.

There was a long moment of silence, then Dean said, “Okay, that’s enough, your chick flick moment is over. Cas? We need to go have sex now. Loud, loud sex.”

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t comment – he knew from experience that protesting Dean’s habit of TMI only made it worse.

“No sex,” said Cas, catching Dean’s hand to press a kiss to Dean’s knuckles and stop his complaint mid-syllable as the hunter’s ears turned pink again. “Your body has been through significant stress in the past few days. What you need is rest and proper nutrition. So, I will help you shower and prepare for bed, while Sam makes some sandwiches.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed. “You guys go ahead.”

Cas looked between them. “Are we ‘good’ now?”

Dean smiled, reaching out his free hand to squeeze Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, Cas,” he said. “We’re good.”

“Yeah,” Sam echoed. “Now, go shower.”

“Is he sayin’ I smell bad?” asked Dean, as he let Cas lead them toward the bathroom. “Do I smell bad?”

“No more than usual,” the angel replied.

“Hey…”

Sam shook his head, and started for the kitchen.

There were still things about their childhood he thought he would change, given the chance, but where they were now, who they had become…

That, he wouldn’t change at all.

THE END


End file.
